3,000
by seekerofbooks
Summary: The Infinity Stones have brought Peter nothing but trouble. There’s an empty slot where his memories should be, and he’s struggling to catch up when he feels someone use the Gauntlet again. When he finds a dying Tony, he’s sure that this is the last time they’ll be together. But with help from Captain Marvel, there’s a chance that it doesn’t have to be.
1. Radioactive

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel, in case you haven't guessed.

Author's Note: Okay, here we go. This story is _not_ spoiler-free. I repeat, this is _not _spoiler-free.

I was sad when Endgame finished. And by sad, I mean I was sobbing. I don't think I was alone, either. Everyone in our theater lost it.

Tony and Peter offer one of my favorite character dynamics of all time. I couldn't bring myself to accept that it might really be over.

Please enjoy the story. Drop a suggestion if you have something to add!

**Chapter One: Radioactive**

He didn't see Mr. Stark swipe the Infinity Gauntlet. But he felt that white-hot flash rush over the battlefield, its heat soaking into every exposed surface.

A flood of panic coursed through him, pushing him towards a cold sweat. He squeezed his eyes shut, remembering the snap that had made him feel empty and broken.

There was a memory there, pulsing and real and awful. He couldn't quite put his finger on what happened next, only that he had been rushed to the battle soon after.

His stomach churned, and he glanced at his hands, waiting for the accompanying nausea. When it came, he stumbled to the ground, his hand clamping across his mouth. _Don't barf, please_, he begged himself, the acidic bile at the back of his throat burning as it rose.

When he steadied himself enough to sit up, his gaze spun with splotches of red and grey. Dust crumbled before him, covering the ground with puddles of ash. It fell through the arm that he'd arranged to shield his face, pushing its way into his eye. He rubbed it out as quickly as he could, his contact blurring.

His vision solidified, revealing the battered figure of Tony Stark. The man groaned, his hands trembling.

"Mr. Stark?" he called, only half-expecting an answer. "Are you okay?"

Half his face was charred and flaking off in pieces, like sparks flying from a burning log. He blinked, staring past Peter.

Someone clambered behind him, and he instinctively moved toward Tony.

"Please," he got out hesitantly. "Mr. Stark, you're going to be okay. You have to, I—" His throat burned as he reached out to him, holding him as he had held Peter what had seemed mere minutes ago.

Pepper touched his shoulder. "It's okay," she said to him. Turning to Tony, she cleared her throat. "You did so well. You really did."

Peter felt himself stagger backward, his nails digging into the side of his face. Fear pulsed through him, leaving him dizzied and unsteady.

He coughed harshly into his hand, trying to contain himself. His legs wobbled, then gave way.

Someone grabbed his arm as he toppled over, nearly pulling it from its socket. They set him gently on the ground near Tony and Pepper.

When Peter looked up, Carol Danvers stared back at him. Her eyes widened, as though she was fascinated by the sight of him. She opened her mouth, but the ringing in Peter's ears drowned out any sound.

He went limp, rolling onto his side and covering his head with his hands. Carol grabbed his shoulders and shook them.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, taking his wrist in her hand. "Where's the blood?"

He stumbled back towards Tony. "It's Mr. Stark. I don't know why— he's not— I just didn't see—"

She stepped toward Tony, brow furrowed. "What happened?"

Peter glanced around, waiting for someone to speak up.

"Gauntlet," Rhodey said, pushing up his mask. "Bruce could barely handle it, even as Hulk."

Carol nodded and took another step toward Tony. "Tony Stark? My name's Carol Danvers. Can you hear me?"

Tony groaned softly, his eyelids fluttering. Peter twitched toward him, the tips of his fingers going numb.

"Get Bruce. Now," Carol ordered, pointing at Rhodey. "We have to know what's going on."

He nodded quickly and leapt into the air, pulling his mask back over his face. "I'll be back soon."

Carol mumbled something unintelligible and examined Tony's injuries. "Can he do anything?"

Pepper shook her head and brushed a matted strand of hair from her face. "He's got a suit, but that's not going to help."

They glanced briefly at each other, their eyes locking in understanding. "Talk to him," Carol suggested. "Just until War Machine gets back."

Pepper took a deep breath and drew a shaky fingertip across the side of Tony's face. "You did it, Tony. Didn't know you had it in you." Her face darkened. "I know that you might want to go, but please— please stay. For Morgan. For Peter. For me. Please."

Peter swallowed hard and put a hand of Pepper's shoulder. "Hey, Mr. Stark. It's Peter." He bit down on his bottom lip, tasting blood. "I want you to know what you've done for me. It's been crazy, getting to know you. It's just— you've given me so much. I wish you could see how nice all of this has been."

The ground behind him trembled, and he whipped around. Bruce towered over him, Rhodey flying close behind.

"Gamma radiation," he got out. "I could handle it. I should've handled it."

Carol pushed Pepper to the side. "No time for theatrics. I can take care of this. Give me a second to—" She broke off, seeming to have forgotten she'd even spoken. Carol reached forward towards Tony, her hands gripping his shoulders firmly.

As though pulling it from Tony, Carol surrounded them with fluorescent red and blue light. Fog-like, it filled the air with an almost-substantial cloud.

It flooded Peter's eyes, swirling and spinning. He raked a hand through his hair, his face flashing hot and cold.

Carol took a heavy breath in, the light fading. She stepped back quickly, energy rippling visibly through her. "I have to release this. Make sure he's okay." Carol started to lift into the sky, her feet dangling high above the ground. Without warning, she dropped back down and tucked into a front roll. She took Peter's arm gently, pulling him away from the crowd surrounding Tony.

"You okay?" she asked, her fingertips emitting tiny sparks.

Peter forced a breath. "Yeah, Ms. Danvers. I'm great. I just really wish—" His voice broke as a sob rose in his throat. Tears clouded his eyes, swirling the battlefield into a watercolor.

"Go back to him, Peter." After a moment, she added, "No matter what comes next, know that we'll be there for you, too. All of us."

He nodded, his eyes tracing her path as she took off in a swarm of color. "Thanks, Ms. Danvers." Without another thought, he stumbled back toward Tony, straining to see him over the others.

Someone grabbed his hand, yanking forcefully on his arm until he ducked below shoulder level, crawling towards Tony.

Pepper gave a small smile upon his arrival and released him from her clutches. "Inhale, Peter. You've got to keep breathing."

He made a strained hiccuping sound. "Y-yeah. Yeah." His throat stung as the rush of air made contact. He leaned toward Tony, his ears throbbing with pressure. "Is he…?"

"I don't know," she said, seeming very small. "If I could tell you, I would."

Bruce shoved his glasses back on. "Listen, Pepper. We don't want to move him, but there's a med center not too far from here, and I think it's safer than hoping he'll pull through on his own."

She glanced up at him, sighing. With a last squeeze of Tony's good hand, Pepper sprang back. "Do it."

Peter ripped off his mask. "Wait!"

Rhodey and Bruce turned to look at him, their brows furrowed and eyes cloudy with worry. "Alright, kid?" Rhodey asked.

"Can you make sure he's okay?"

Bruce knelt down beside him. His face softened. "I don't know, Peter. But we'll try."

That would have to be enough. Peter needed it to be. "Okay," he said, gulping mouthfuls of cool air. "Okay."

Pepper wrapped her arms around him. "It will be. That's a promise, Peter. Got it?"

He couldn't look at her, but he nodded. "Thanks, Mrs. Potts." A tear pushed its way down his cheek, clearing a streak of dirt from his face.

"Keep breathing, Peter," she reminded him. "Don't let this get this best of you."

"I won't," he said firmly, wiping his face with the back of his hand. "I swear."

(A/N: This was strangely soothing to write. I promise I won't be too cruel as I add more.)


	2. Chapter Two: The Wait

Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, nor Marvel.

Author's Note: I was astounded by your reception of Chapter One! This is the second story I've posted to this site, and it's doing _much_ better than my first publication.

Thank you— all of you— for taking the time to read this. It brings a smile to my face knowing that others are reading and enjoying my writing. You guys are amazing.

Without further ado, here's Chapter Two!

**Chapter Two: The Wait**

The sweatshirt that Scott had lent him didn't quite fit. The sleeves kept flopping over onto his hands, forcing him to push them up every couple of minutes.

His mask sat tattered and torn in his lap, like a token of the battle they'd claimed. Peter sank further into the plush chair, letting his head rest against the wall.

He'd wanted to go in with them. He'd tried to push through the door, tried to keep hold of Pepper's hand. Bruce told him to let go, and he listened. There was a limit, supposedly, as to how much they could expose a fifteen-year-old to in one day.

Bucky and Steve sat next to him, talking quietly. After a moment, they fell silent. Bucky held out his hand for Steve to shake. He took it, then pulled his friend into a hug. "You don't have to do this," he added.

Bucky shrugged. "I shouldn't be here, Steve. There's no other option. I'm going with you."

Peter raised his hand involuntarily. "Mr. Barnes? Mr. Rogers?"

"Put your hand down, Peter," Steve said quickly. "Is everything okay?"

He shook his head and rose unsteadily to his feet. "I— I'm sorry." With that, he ran past them to the door.

Bucky shot out of his chair and grabbed his arm. "Peter, please."

He stumbled, attempting to keep his footing. "C'mon, Mr. Barnes, let me go!"

Steve forced a bottle of water into his hand and motioned Bucky aside. "Drink something," he demanded, crossing his arms. "You've been running around all day, and— Bucky, what are they thinking? Keeping him here?"

"I'm capable of behaving like one of you," Peter broke in, opening the water bottle.

Bucky shook his head. "Steve's right. Go home, kid."

He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. "Look, I'm fine. I just need to be here, okay?" The more he spoke, the faster the room seemed to spin. Furniture blurred into smudges, and for a moment he almost lost sight of Steve and Bucky. "I'm sorry, but I can't leave."

Steve guided him back to his chair. "I get it, Peter. Just remember to take it easy, right? Tell us if you need anything."

"I will," he promised, rubbing his eyes. "When do you think they'll come back out?"

"Couple of hours," Bucky guessed, crossing his arms. "Why?"

Peter shrugged. "No reason." He settled back into his seat, tucking his knees into the sweatshirt as though it were a blanket.

It wasn't long until his eyes shut, and he felt himself dropping into the dark.

When they opened again, Steve was waving a bag of chips toward him. "Want this?"

He yawned, stretching his arms above his head. "Yeah. Thanks, Mr. Rogers." Steve tossed him the bag, and he pulled it open with a gentle snapping noise. Reading the name, he struggled to keep from laughing. "Off-brand Cheetos," he hissed into his arm, trying to stay quiet.

Bucky glanced up from his book. "What?"

"Nothing, Mr. Barnes. It's just been a while since I've had _Cheez Poofs_."

Steve nudged Bucky's elbow. "They're updating us soon, right?"

Peter's head snapped up. "They're what?" He threw himself across the room towards them. "When?"

"Forget I said anything," Steve said, leaning back in his chair. "You weren't supposed to hear that."

"Right," Peter shrugged. "Because you can't let me know anything about what's going on."

Bucky stood and stretched out his arm. "You know that's not true, kid."

Peter paced by the front desk. "Do I? Do I really?" His eyes flicked back and forth between Bucky and Steve, searching. "'Cause I feel like I don't know anything today."

"Welcome to my world," Bucky frowned.

Steve snorted. "Shut it, you. Listen, Peter. Today's been crazy, and we'll explain everything as soon as we get the chance."

"Why not now?"

Bucky raised his eyebrows at Steve. "Yeah, Steve. The kid raises some good questions."

As they argued, the door slowly began to creak. Peter whipped toward it, fingertips tingling.

"Hey!" Scott slid into their room, giving them a tiny wave. "How're you doing?"

Bucky shook his head and gestures toward Peter. "That one's all antsy. Can't concentrate on anything with him jumping around like a frog on steroids."

"How do you expect me to sit down in the midst of all this?" Peter yanked off Scott's sweatshirt and offered it back to him. "Wow, it's hot in here. Did someone turn up the thermostat?"

Scott tossed the sweatshirt over a nearby chair. "Listen, I'm definitely the least qualified person here. From what I can tell, everything's sort of stable. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been put on break."

"Sort of stable?" Peter repeated. "I don't mean to be rude, Mr. Lang, but what am I supposed to do with that information?"

"First off," Scott began, feeding the vending machine a dollar, "you don't have to call me Mr. Lang— ugh, right? Makes me feel old. Secondly, your guy Tony's gotten to a point where they don't need all hands on deck. That's a good thing, Peter."

"I know, I just… yeah. Sorry." His face warmed, beads of sweat spreading across his forehead. "I'm just confused, I guess. About all of this."

Steve's face softened. "You have more than enough reason to be. That battle alone was enough to send anyone into crisis."

Scott pushed up his sleeves. "Have you told him about what happened? Where he was before the—"

"He doesn't know," Steve cut in. "Bruce said it wasn't a good time."

The beginnings of a migraine prickled in Peter's temples. "Wasn't a good time for me to know what?"

Steve put a hand on his shoulder. "Not right now, Peter. Soon. But not now." He pulled away. "No wonder you took off that sweatshirt. You're burning hot."

Peter wiped at his face with his sleeve. "I'm fine," he said. "Really, I am."

"Haven't you had anything to drink?" Bucky handed him the bottle of water.

Peter shrugged. "I've had a little water."

Scott turned toward the door. "I'll get a thermometer."

"I'm fine!" Peter yelled again. Pushing strands of slick hair from his forehead, he tried to refuse the water.

Bucky glared at him. "Sit down and drink it, kid."

Scott pushed back into the room, brandishing a solid grey thermometer like a sword. "It's the kind you put in your ears," he said, handing it to Peter.

Reluctantly, he pulled off the cap and stuck it in his left ear. "Tickles."

"Give it here," Steve demanded. Squinting at the numbers on the tiny screen, he read them aloud. "101 on the dot."

"You're probably dehydrated," Scott decided. "Take it easy. Drink some water."

Peter rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Look, I don't need to rest. I'm completely okay, and what I really need is more information about whatever you're keeping from me."

"We shouldn't," Steve said to Scott.

"We have to."

Steve sighed. "I'm not the most qualified person to explain this to a kid."

"If you're just going to keep me standing here, can I at least get some Advil?" Peter crossed his arms and walked towards them. "Listen, I swear I won't freak out. After today, I don't know if anything will surprise me."

"Trust us," Steve frowned. "This will."

(A/N: Argh, poor Peter! Considering he's a superhero and a teenager, he'd probably need more water than most to function properly. I get dehydration headaches occasionally, and they're awful. I can't imagine how terrible they'd feel since he has especially powerful senses. Next update is in the works!)


	3. Chapter Three: Advil and Explanations

Disclaimer: I don't own the MCU. Big surprise, I know.

Author's Note: This chapter was interesting to write, to say the least. I owe my inspiration to various iconic Tumblr posts, of course.

Where we last left off, Peter was about to learn what exactly happened when he "passed out".

Once again, I'd like to thank you for your support. I received a flood of positive feedback on the last chapter, and it makes me so happy that this story has reached almost forty people.

Word of warning— I had myself in tears while writing this. Seriously.

Get your tissues, because Chapter Three is available for your viewing pleasure!

**Chapter Three: Advil and Explanations**

"You've got to be joking." Peter sank into his chair, eyes squeezed shut.

Steve shifted uncomfortably. "How about I get you that Advil now?"

His temples throbbed as he willed himself to glance up at Steve. "Nah. Why don't you tell me why you decided that I didn't need to know any of this in the three hours we've been sitting here?"

"I don't think that's—"

"Five years! I've been gone five years! Dr. Strange told me, but I didn't think— oh, man. You knew? Everyone knew?" Peter blanched, his face going pale. "Is that why— why he hugged me?" Bile burnt at the back of his throat, threatening to spill out of him.

Bucky folded his arms. "Look, kid, I was gone too. Didn't find out much sooner than you."

He forced a breath and shook his head. "Oh, man. This is not good. Wow. Really, this just completely sucks." Unfiltered thoughts flew through him, fighting for control. "Am I old now? I think I'm still a kid. I'm pretty sure that I'm a kid."

"Calm down!" someone said, but Peter had already begun to spiral.

"Is everyone back? Who disappeared?" His voice grew increasingly more frenzied; his words quicker, less pronounced. "Yeah, this is a big _nope_ for me. Not loving this."

Steve grabbed his shoulders and shook him as gently as he could. "Peter!"

He flew back to the present, his vision blurring. "Hey, Mr. Rogers. How long have you been here?" When Steve just stared at him, Peter added, "Kidding, sir. I'm fine. Just a little overwhelmed, I guess. Or something like that."

"Sit down," Bucky demanded, practically throwing him into the chair.

"Hey, this isn't a hostage situation," Peter protested. "I can come and go as I please."

"Not right now, you can't," Steve frowned. "You're not leaving like this."

He threw his hands up. "What do you want from me? This is not a great situation, sir! I'm not sure how I'm supposed to take this, but something tells me I have more than enough reason to be upset!"

Scott grabbed his shoulder. "Hey, Peter. Take a minute. Look around."

He looked so tired that Peter tried to listen. "Yeah."

"You made it, right? We're here. We did it."

"I didn't know that I even— it's kind of a shock that I—" Peter broke off, his voice cracking. "I didn't know I died."

Steve turned to Bucky and gestured toward Peter.

"I don't like this any more than the kid does, Steve," he shrugged. "I didn't know what was happening, either."

"But it happened," Peter snapped, his face reddening. "And everyone let me go on knowing it."

Steve sank down into his chair. "You may have been gone, but we had to deal with the fallout."

"This isn't about who hurt more!" he yelled in return, the back of his throat getting drier by the second. "I've just been pulled back into existence. I've already fought, cried, and had three migraines in the span of just four hours. Don't tell me that everyone missed me when I didn't know I'd ever left."

Peter took a single, shaking breath before dropping to his knees on the rug. The words, it seemed, had taken his last traces of energy. He grabbed the arm of his chair for support, trying to regain his balance.

"Peter, hold on," Scott said, kneeling on the ground beside him. "This sucks. It does, and I won't be the one to suggest otherwise. You're a kid, right? High school? Middle school?"

Reluctantly, Peter smiled. "I'm not that young, sir. I'm fifteen."

Scott nudged Peter with his shoulder. "Wow, kid. That's incredible— really, it is. I mean, it's awful that you've gotta put up with all this stuff."

Peter closed his eyes, letting his hand slip from the armrest. "What's your point, sir?"

"You're dealing with a massive amount of stress. I'd say you're handling it pretty well. Better than I am, in any case."

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "Definitely."

They sat there in silence, listening to the ticks from the clock mounted to the wall. After several minutes, the tension in Peter's shoulders gave way, leaving him to fold in on himself like a crumpled paper bag.

Scott handed him a bottle of water. "I'll grab you that Advil, if you still want it."

"Thanks." Peter lifted his head just enough to glance up at Scott. "Sorry if I've been a bit of a pain today. I'm not usually this dramatic," he added with a small smile.

"If this is what fifteen-year-olds are like, then I should get used to it. Cassie's fifteen, too." He disappeared into a storage closet, leaving the door open behind him.

Peter pushed himself from the floor into the chair, his head turning fuzzy with the sudden movement. "Yeesh."

Steve folded his hands expectantly and leaned toward him. He took a long, slow breath before speaking. "I shouldn't have said those things to you. I was being—"

"Look, you don't have to apologize because I'm a little younger than you. Well, a lot younger, if you consider eighty years to be a lot." The corner of his lips twitched upwards at the thought. "I didn't handle it well, but it's not because of my age."

"What's it because of, then?" Bucky pried.

He forced himself to swallow the fear that bubbled in his throat. "I guess it would've been better if, you know, Mr. Stark got to tell me. Nothing against you, sir, but he'd understand what I hate about it. All of it."

Steve straightened his shoulders. "Yeah, I'd buy that."

"What?"

"Tony practically went into recluse after the snap. He seemed happy with his family, but there was something off about the whole thing. I wish I could tell you what it was, but I didn't ask. I should've."

Scott re-emerged from the closet, tossing a box of extra-strength Advil from hand to hand. "How many of these do you take, kid?"

"Seven," he answered truthfully. "Sometimes eight."

He squinted at the label on the box. "No, really. How's two?"

Peter shrugged. "Two won't do a thing."

"You shouldn't take more than the dosage. I don't mean to be a stickler, but you've gotta be careful with this stuff. Don't overdo it."

"Oh, that's not it, sir." He waved his hands as if to brush off the idea. "I've got a high metabolism, is all. I need the extra Advil for it to kick in."

Scott handed him the box. "Sorry. Not super familiar with your powers. I should've done my research."

"Don't worry about it," Peter shrugged, swallowing the first Advil tablet. "Mr. Stark went batshit when he found out that I can handle nine shots of espresso." He took a swig from the water, grimacing.

"That's cardiac arrest waiting to happen," Scott said cheerily, brushing the Advil wrappers into the palm of his hand.

"All the more reason to drink it." He brushed the back of his hand across his mouth, the grin still evident across his face. "Starbucks hates me."

Scott turned to Steve, giving him the thumbs-up. _Look at him!_ he mouthed. _He's smiling!_

As Peter settled back into his seat with a freshly-painted grin and renewed energy, a creak from the corner of the room caught his attention. The knob at the door turned ever so slightly to the right.

Bruce stuck his head out, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting. "Is Peter awake?"

He leapt from his chair. "Hey, Mr. Banner! What's up?"

"It's Tony. Pepper wants you to come say goodbye."

(A/N: Yeah, I don't have an excuse for this one. On the bright side, the next update is on its way! Thanks for sticking with this story, guys. It means a lot.)


	4. Chapter Four: Goodbye

Disclaimer: I don't own Marvel— shocker, right?

Author's Note: This chapter was definitely the most difficult to write. I played around with a few alternates, but this felt like the right way to go.

With the end of the year comes an onslaught of exams, so that was an added time commitment.

Sorry for the wait! I hope it's worth it.

**Chapter Four: Goodbye**

"What?"

Bruce stepped towards him. "We're doing what we can, but we have to draw the line somewhere."

Peter blinked, understanding finally setting in. "Uh, yeah. Right."

He followed Bruce through the door, his hands quivering. Gathered in a semi-circle around a small cot were Pepper, Dr. Strange, and Shuri. They stared at him, seeming not to register his identity at all.

Pepper nearly lunged toward Peter as he entered the room, taking his dirt-smeared hands in hers. "Hey, Peter."

He pulled one of his hands free and gave her an awkward wave. "Um. Hi."

The Avengers in the room spread out, making a narrow path for him to see through. Tony Stark lay propped on a pillow, his eyes closed.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter took a cautious step towards him. "It's Peter. I… I'm supposed to tell you that it's okay for you to go. But sir, I really don't think I can." His bottom lip trembled as he tried to stay calm.

Pepper gripped his shoulder. "Can you handle this, Peter?"

He nodded quickly, stepping away from her. "You can't just leave, Mr. Stark. Not with everything that's happened in the last five years. Not when you finally got something you wanted. You told me after the snap —five years ago, I guess— that it would all be okay. If you d-die, then I don't know if it ever can be." Peter wiped at his face with the back of his sleeve, eyes burning.

Dr. Strange flicked a switch on the wall. "He doesn't have much time left, kid. There's going to have to be a goodbye at some point. Make it a good one."

"I— yeah. Of course." He sat on the ground beside Tony's cot and leaned his head against it. "If I have to do this, Mr. Stark, then I will. You're welcome to give me a reason to stop anytime, though."

Pepper pushed a chair towards him. "Sit," she said, pressing down on his shoulders.

"Thanks." He scooted closer to Tony, the chair squeaking as it scraped the floor. His throat tightened as he opened his mouth. "Um. I— I don't think I can do this. I'm sorry, really, but I can't. I just can't."

"Peter," Pepper began. "It's alright. Everything will—"

"No! It's not alright, Mrs. Potts. It's not. You can't… can't let him disappear," he managed, his voice trembling. "I just got back. He— he can't leave now." Peter let out a shuddery gasp, tears rolling down his cheeks and dropping into his lap. He pulled his sleeve across his face, trying to compose himself. "If you're willing t-to let him go, I th-think I should leave. Y-yeah. I can't just… just watch him disappear, Mrs. Potts. I really, really can't." He shook himself, sending teardrops flying into the air around him.

Pepper fell silent, placing her hand cautiously on his shoulder. "We have to be ready to keep going. He'd never ask the world to stop for him, Peter, and you can't let it."

Peter stared at his hands. "He shouldn't have done this. I mean, I had the gauntlet. I guess I really could've—"

"You're a kid," she reminded him. "Tony knew what he was getting into the moment he decided to bring everyone back."

"Maybe he shouldn't have." Peter shook his head, sighing. "We've all been gone for so long, I guess. There doesn't really seem to be a point in trying to… trying to be here again."

Pepper pulled him into a hug. "There wasn't a day that went by where Tony wasn't thinking about you." She rubbed his back as he relaxed in her arms. "It's okay for you to be here, Peter. Tony would want that for you, even if he couldn't help you sort everything out."

He crumpled helplessly into her, forgoing all restraint. Tears stung his eyes, rolling relentlessly down his cheeks. "I'm sorry," he heard himself say. "I'm s-so sorry, Mrs. Potts."

"What do you have to be sorry for, kid?" someone groaned.

Pepper whipped toward the voice, nearly pushing Peter off his chair. "Oh my god!"

"Wha—" Peter began, following her gaze. "Holy shit, sir!"

Tony Stark lay wide-eyed in the cot, his hands stiff at his sides.

Dr. Strange glanced down at his locket. "Must've missed that one."

"I'm definitely immortal," said Tony, promptly passing out.

Peter burst into tears, making no effort to hide his surprise. "You said he was dead!"

Shuri fiddled with a dial. "Could've just been a last burst of energy; his nerves shutting down." Upon looking at his face, she shook her head. "Um. I'm sure that he'll be fine."

Pepper gripped the armrests of the char, her knuckles turning white with effort. It seemed to take all of her strength not to shout.

Bruce handed a syringe to Shuri. "We should run a full diagnostic."

"Almost finished," she replied with a smirk. "Just need to draw blood."

Peter flinched when she pushed the needle into his arm. "Great. Uh, I'm gonna go." He took a second glance at the scene, regretting it immediately. "I don't like blood very much, that's all." The color drained from his face as he turned to leave.

"How old's the kid?" Bruce asked, nudging Pepper out of her trance.

"Oh— he's, uh, fifteen."

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can still hear you."

Steve jumped out of his chair. "Is— is everything okay?" His voice sounded uncharacteristically shaky.

"Yeah," Peter managed, trying to smile. "Yeah, I think it is."

Bucky pulled Steve into a side-hug. "Told you."

Scott put his hand on Peter's shoulder. "That Advil kicked in yet?"

"I think I've gotta take a few more," he laughed, managing to sound only slightly hysterical.

"All yours," Scott said, pouring three into Peter's hand. "Enjoy."

Peter downed the Advil, finishing them off with a long drink of water. "Yeah, that's delicacy, right there."

His face felt hot and his hands fluttery, but still he refused the seat Steve pushed towards him. "I'm alright," Peter said. "Really, I can stand."

"It's four in the morning," Bucky shot back. "Sit down. It's not like you're going anywhere."

"Fair point." He eased into the seat, fatigue creeping in the back of his mind. As his eyelids closed, trickles of light drew past, painting neon streaks throughout his head.

With a glance at the kid sprawled in his chair, Scott tiptoed towards Steve.

"I'm gonna go, if that's all right."

He nodded. "Drive safe."

"Drive!" Scott snorted. "Thanks, Cap, but I doubt that Hank and Hope are going to want to drive now that they've got full access to all their toys."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "I'll tell the kid that you had to leave."

"Thanks." Scott pressed a button on the belt of his suit, shrinking into obscurity.

Bucky nudged Steve's arm. "Kids wear you out, huh, bud?"

"Just that one."

Peter's chest rose and fell rapidly, his hands clutching the armrests even in sleep. "My fault," he mumbled feverishly.

Steve pulled off his jacket and tossed it over the back of a nearby chair. "Hey, Buck?"

"What is it, pal?"

"I'm older than you, now," he grinned. "That should make me your boss, right?"

Bucky rolled onto his side, eyes drifting closed. "Your star spangled ass? Yeah, right." After several minutes, his breathing slowed and his shoulders relaxed.

Steve sunk down in his seat, watching Bucky's chest rise and fall. "I'm with you 'til the end of the line, Bucky."

(A/N: I was really upset that Steve and Bucky just happily abandoned each other at the end of Endgame. I mean, the whole point of Steve's character development as he adjusted to the 21st century was that he was learning to move on from the past, right? It's hard to believe that he immediately went back when given the chance. Of course, Peggy is great, but that still doesn't explain why he'd leave his friends —his family, really— in the present. I can't promise what'll happen to him in this fic, but keep an eye out for more scenes with Steve. Next update is in the works!)


End file.
